Among the Garbage and the Flowers
by blissfully-bookish
Summary: Best mates on their scummy Manchester estate, Remus Lupin and Helena Miller are absolutely not in love with each other. (this is just real pretentious and self-indulgent so yes there's that)
1. Prologue

_A/N: I've got rid of most of this story, because everything after chapter three was REAL shit. You can re-read everything so far if you like, it's probably better than before - and NEW chapters, rife with actual good content, shall be coming soon! Hurrah!_

 _Onto my cringy old A/Ns!_

 _The recurring song throughout this fic is planned to be Suzanne by Leonard Cohen, so I'd recommend you listen to that if you haven't already._

 _Disclaimer: Other than Helena Miller and her family, none of these characters, places, etc. belong to me. All rights go to J.K Rowling, and Leonard Cohen for Suzanne._

* * *

Most stories will begin with a scene being set, and ours is no exception.

Picture it: it's the tail end of August, and snow is flurrying around a Manchester council estate. On the doorstep of a cramped terrace, smoke is trailing into the air.

The smoke comes from a cigarette in Helena Miller's hand, and beside her, Remus Lupin is flicking Helena's lighter, the flame glowing and dying every half second. The light catches the corner of her eye, and when she looks up, she can see it reflecting in Remus' brown eyes, illuminating the amber flecks around his pupils.

'Funny, en't it?'

Remus' thumb stops it's seemingly relentless pressing of the lighter, and he wrenches his eyes to the girl sitting beside him.

'Wrench', as if it was difficult. It wasn't; far from it.

'What's funny?' he musters up. The absence of the small orange light is apparent, so the pair focus on the end of Helena's cigarette in order to conduct the conversation. It works. They relax.

'Snow. In August. It's like, a thousand and six degrees.'

It's below ten, cold for the end of summer, even in the north of England: Helena is wearing one of Remus' jumpers and her older brother's donkey jacket, and still shivering slightly. Despite this, Remus doesn't contradict her: she could say anything in the world and he would agree with her, no doubts behind him.

'It's - I don't know. Just strange, en't it? It's been warm all summer, and now… snow. Cold. Summer's over.'

 _Is this what it's been reduced to?_ Remus thinks. They'd exhausted every conversational topic over the last month or so, and now they were stuck on discussing the weather.

Nevertheless, he caves. It's Helena Miller. If she wants to talk about the weather, you talk about the weather, no two ways about it.

'Yeah. It is weird. Bit sad, too.'

Helena nods and takes another puff of her cigarette. The usual smirk on her lips is absent, Remus notices, and in the haze of tobacco smoke and snowflakes, he can't help but think the pout makes her look like a woman from a Leonard Cohen song. She could be Suzanne, and he could stare at her, and cling to every sound and movement she made, and he could love her in all her stone-cold insanity and unpredictability.

Or perhaps, he could simply sit on this step with her for the rest of time, long after the snow stops and her cigarette burns out. Both options seemed equally as appealing.

A daisy wedged between two pavement slabs is drooping, and Remus pulls it out easily. After a moment of hesitation, his hand reaches up and tucks it into Helena's hair.

She grins half-heartedly, brushing at his hand. 'What the fuck are you doing now, Remus Lupin?' she breathes, touching now at the flower in her hair.

 _Making you Suzanne_.

'Daisies are a summery thing, no? You can look like Su - look like you're in summer, all year round. Or until it dies. Whichever comes first.'

Her smile is real this time, and her motionless state is vanished. She hops up, and all thoughts of a lethargic, tragic heroine are gone from his mind: she's the energetic, bubbly Helena Miller - God only knows what's going on below the surface, but for now, that's her.

In spite of the daisy in her hair being in a state of half-death, she looks the very definition of life at this moment. Remus can't help but stare for a moment.

Luckily, her eyes are closed as she holds out her arms and throws her head back to take in the combination of weak sun and melting snow, letting it land on her jacket, and her forehead, and her tongue as she lets out a loud laugh, for no reason other than the act of living. By the time they open again, Remus is up and flicking her lighter, just the same as two minutes ago.

They fall into step beside each other, unsure of where they're going, but sure that they're going to make the most of their final week of freedom, just as they have for the last month.

Remus hums 'Suzanne' under his breath, and Helena beams at him: that's her favourite song.


	2. Summertime

_A/N: Look at me, updating two days in a row! I have no clue where this story is going, but I'm having fun writing it. Please review if you have anything to say, as always!_

 _I forgot to Disclaim on the last chapter, so I'll make sure to Disclaim on this one: apart from Helena Miller and her family, no characters, places, etc. belong to me, and all rights go to J.K Rowling. Enjoy!_

* * *

'One day left in this shithole.'

The conversation had grown drier over the last week - six weeks of their constantly being together had taken its toll, yet Remus would have gladly spent another six weeks, six months, six years with just Helena Miller, and nobody else. This had been the first time he had remained in Manchester for the entire summer in five years, and he didn't regret a moment spent with the girl.

'Then we can leave forever. Where should we go?' She turns her head so that her eyes are on him, and her cheek digs into the dewy grass of the park.

Remus glances over her face - today she's serene, she's tranquil, and the waves don't have a chance to grow wild and crash over him: instead the water laps quietly around his feet, lulling him into security and allowing him to stay close. He knows this won't last long, so he leans backwards until he's lying beside her on the grass. It's only then that he thinks about her question.

'Where should _we_ go?' He smiles inwardly at the thought of doing whatever they would together; the idea that she thinks of him as a definite figure in her future. _We_. As if there was no question about it.

'I like Sheffield,' he finally says. He's only been to the city once, but he liked the houses.

Apparently to Helena, though, this isn't an acceptable answer: her nose wrinkles and she kicks him lightly on the leg.

'That's practically across the road. That's _boring_. We've got to go somewhere far away. Somewhere interesting, and _new_.'

Remus is silent for another moment. 'London.'

Again, Helena shakes her head: 'Boring. We've been there _plenty_. Everybody lives in London! That's _everyone's_ ambition! Pick somewhere else.'

Remus is beginning to become irritated - Helena asked him a question, and refused his answer twice. However, he kept going, on the sole reason that he partially agreed with her arguments.

'I don't know where else. I've never _been_ anywhere else.'

'You don't have to have _been_ there. Use your imagination. You've seen films, you've read loads of books. There must be loads of places to choose from!'

'Paris?'

' _Now_ you're talking! Paris, and we can be all French, and live in a fancy-arse flat and eat pastries from _boulangeries_ and listen to Jacques Brel. _Excellent_ idea.' Her head turns back to stare at the sky and Remus is somehow glad about her pickiness, if it meant she could have such an excited response to something he'd said.

'I've got a picture of Francoise Hardy in my room. Johnny gave it me. She's French, en't she?' she says after a long pause. Remus is surprised by this. Helena was the type of person who left a topic after a minute, choosing to move onto a wildly different subject. She never returned to a conversation, never seamlessly moved into another: it was always a jarring transition between two entirely dissimilar topics - and yet here she is, continuing to talk about France.

'Yeah, she is.'

Another pause.

'Jean-Jacques Burnel,' Helena says.

'Who?'

'Bassist of the Stranglers. He's cool. French, I think. His name is, anyway.'

'Alright. Catherine Deneuve is French.' Remus felt the pull to contribute to the list, and Helena nodded.

'She's pretty, en't she? Same as Francoise Dorléac. I cried when she died.'

'I remember that. My mother was in hysterics. Erm… Edith Piaf.'

'I like her. According to Johnny, I cried when she died, too.'

'You cry at everyone who dies. I spent a week consoling you about Elvis, don't you remember?' Remus immediately feels bad about bringing this up, but Helena smiles wryly.

'Don't remind me. The wound's still fresh.'

The conversation ends here, and Helena screws her eyes shut, still facing the sky. Remus turns on his side and takes the opportunity to gaze at her. She has some grass stuck to her cheek, and sunburn shines bright, shining red on the side of her neck, but, in Remus' opinion, this makes her look all the more beautiful. He can't say why; he can't say the reasons behind any of the feelings he has towards Helena, he just knows that they're _there_ , and very real.

She's prettier than Catherine Deneuve, and Francoise Dorléac, and every French movie star ever to live, he decides. She's Helena Miller, an English rose. In the depth of Remus' mind he may care to refer to her as _his_ English rose, but he tries his best to keep that part of his brain under control.

They remain that way until it starts to get cold, when they reluctantly stand up and make their way out of the park, away from their moment of serenity, and towards the estate, ready to waste the remainder of the day before the next inevitably arrived, bringing along with it the end of the summertime.

* * *

'Mother, I just need my socks -'

'Remus, darling, you'll run out of underwear in an _instant_ , trust me! I don't want to have to send off packages to you, please just take -'

'Hope, you heard the boy. Just give him his socks!'

It's surprising, the fact that even in the smallest of houses, so many things can get lost in the space of six weeks. This was the thought that kept returning to Remus' mind - any item he thought of that he would need to pack somehow managed to disappear from the place he thought he'd seen it five minutes ago.

By half past ten, he's managed to find everything he had the energy to, and even convinced his mother to give him just his socks, rather than the pile of underwear she had been thrusting upon him.

Finally, he stands with his trunk at the front door, receiving final words of concern from his parents.

'Are you sure you want to go alone?'

Remus nods, bored already. He had received his apparition licence the last school year and was planning on taking Helena with him to the station, saying their goodbyes to their families in Manchester in lieu of dragging them all to King's Cross.

'I would feel much more comfortable dropping you off myself, Remus. There - there isn't anything going on between you and Helena, is there?'

Suddenly, Hope beams widely and Remus is shocked into speech.

'No! There's nothing - I mean - we're just friends. Nothing more - I - I promise.'

Lyall looks disapprovingly at his son, and Hope seems almost delirious.

'Leave them alone, Lyall,' she manages to squeak. 'Oh, to be young and in love! Remember when we first started going out?'

Remus shakes his head. 'There's nothing at all - romantic, or - or - or _sexual_ between me and Helena. I _mean_ it.'

Hope rolls her eyes. 'Denial. You'll snap out of it soon enough - oh, you're so _sweet_ together!'

Rather than remaining in the awkward situation, wherein his mother gushes about his non-existent girlfriend and his father acts disapproving about the same phantom, Remus turns around and opens the door, muttering 'I love you's and slamming the door slightly too hard in their faces. He winces as soon as he does it, promising himself that he'll send an owl apologising from Hogwarts.

When he turns, Helena is loitering in her doorway across the street. She catches his eye and smiles, stepping forward and dragging her suitcase behind her.

Remus debates in his head whether to tell her about his parents' bickering, worried about something close to the truth leaving his mouth. He eventually decides that it's safe - he can keep his emotions under control for that long, can't he?

'My parents think we're together.' _Shit_. He didn't mean to sound that blunt - he wanted a comedic anecdote, not what sounds like a confrontation. 'I mean - they're behind the front door there, my mother squealing about how sweet we look together.' He's digging a grave for himself. 'It's quite funny. You should see them.'

Should he just die now? His attempt at relaying a somewhat funny story turned into a - he didn't know, but it certainly wasn't that.

Helena looks up at him, squinting slightly in the sunlight. 'Maybe we should be together.'

His eyes immediately grow as wide as dinner plates, and his muscles tense up. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, feel it in his throat - did he hear her correctly?

But she laughs, and rests her hand on his arm. 'Your _face_ , Jesus Christ! I'm only joking. The thought of going out with me isn't that disgusting, is it?'

Remus heart slows down, but he can't help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Being together is just a funny thought to her, clearly. A joke. He grabs his trunk and holds it tightly, his knuckles turning almost white.

'Hold on.'

Helena just has time to grab her case in her other hand before they turn on the spot, disappearing into thin air.

If Remus had looked properly, he might have seen the flicker of disappointment on Helena's face at his expression, the doubt before she made her joke.

In a similar vein, if Helena had paid attention, she may have noticed the lump in Remus' throat when her warm hand was resting on his arm, the hitch in his breath at the idea of their being together.

But, as teenagers often do, they missed these signs - just as they had all summer.

Nothing much had changed.


	3. Train Rides

_A/N: I completely forgot I'd started this shitty little thing until your review, dakotasilverlock, so thanks much for jogging my memory :) I'm pretty sure I had another plan for this chapter, but I cannot for the life of me remember, so we're stuck with this - a little bit of depressing Helena for you. Enjoy!_

 _Disclaimer: As always, other than Helena & her family (who aren't even mentioned in this chapter whoops) nothing belongs to me, all to J.K Rowling. Enjoy!_

* * *

A whistle blows loudly, masking the 'pop' of Remus and Helena appearing in Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Helena stumbles - coming from a Muggle family, and refusing to take part in apparition lessons following an incident of splinching, she's unused to the sensation. Remus, against all reservations, grabs her by the waist and holds her up until she steadies herself.

After the moment of dizziness passes, Helena is painfully aware of his touch and gently pulls herself away from him, murmuring thanks as she picks up her suitcase.

'Should we find a compartment?' Remus suggests, ducking down so Helena can hear him over the din of excited teenagers and loud animals. Helena thinks for a moment, then smiles sadly, nudging him in the ribs.

'No need to burden yourself. You've got your friends to sit with, I've got mine.'

Immediately Remus opens his mouth to protest, wanting nothing more but to extend his precious time with the girl, but before he can do so he feels someone barrel into his side.

' _Moony!_ Where have you _been_ all summer, we had a _great_ time -'

'Yeah, we did, you should have come - who's this?'

Remus pushes Sirius to the side, stands up straight and looks beside him where Helena is standing awkwardly, looking between Sirius, James and Peter. Surrounded by the hordes of people, and Remus' other friends, she's suddenly lost a lot of her splendour, her mystique: she looks like an awkward teenage girl without the background of her familiar Manchester estate.

It wasn't until that moment he realises he's never introduced his friends to Helena, and they had no idea what he'd been doing all summer. He decides he has to rectify this, but can't help but feel an underlying sense of possessiveness over Helena, and the time they've had together.

'She's my friend, Helena Miller. We're neighbours, she's on my estate.' The boys look confused, but James still offers her a friendly smile which she returns weakly.

'Why have we never met her?' Sirius asks, nodding at her. She nods back, though it's so small she doesn't think he noticed.

Remus isn't sure how to answer Sirius' question; Helena had always been an out-of-school friend, the type of person you could ignore for a school year and easily pick up where you left off when the holidays began again. He had never wanted the other Marauders visiting his home, the tiny terrace barely being able to fit the three in his family, so his time in Manchester was solely spent with Helena, and hers with him. Her being in the year below, they had never had lessons together, and she didn't tend to spend time in the Gryffindor common room where Remus and his friends would sit. This left little opportunity for them to talk to her, and as Remus prefers not to talk about Manchester, she never came up in conversation.

Another factor which he doesn't want to think about is that it's only in the last year he's developed such - _feelings_ for Helena; viewing her as more than a friend; seeing her as an attractive girl.

'We don't really talk in school, we're just council estate mates, I suppose,' Helena answers as Remus seems to be lost in his own thoughts. In all honesty, she's quite offended that Remus never thought of her as important enough to mention to his friends: even her name didn't seem to register with them.

Remus nods in agreement, though inside disappointed that she only thinks of him as a council estate mate. He thought they had had a strong connection that summer, but clearly it was one-sided.

The whistle blows again, louder this time, and the five teenagers glance up at the clock to see it's five to eleven. Helena takes this as an opportunity to leave, turning to Remus. She wishes she could have a more private goodbye, that she could talk to him the way she does in Manchester, but this would have to do.

'Bye, then, Remus. I hope you have a fun year.' She smiles, leans up and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, shocked at her own boldness. Nevertheless, she tries to play it cool, smiling at the rest of the boys, who are now staring and smirking at her, and making her exit onto the Hogwarts Express.

Remus can only stare after her in awe, fighting the irresistible urge to feel the spot where her lips - _her_ lips, which she spoke and smiled and laughed with - had just lain.

Even if he doesn't wistfully reach up to touch his cheek like a cheesy romance novel, Sirius, James and Peter catch the love-struck expression on his face - anyone who was looking could do so.

'I think Moony's in _love_ ,' Sirius croons, the group beginning to make their way to the train. Remus shoots him a look, then glances around them, making sure Helena isn't still in the vicinity.

'I'm not in _love_ , you idiot. I - I just - how would you feel if a pretty girl kissed you on the cheek, out of nowhere?' he blurts suddenly, unable to think of another argument in his favour. The boys grin, sliding open the door to their usual compartment and slumping down on the seats.

'So you admit you think she's pretty. See, Moony, that's half the battle. Now you just have to say that you love her!' James laughs at the expression on Remus' face, one of pained annoyance, troubled thoughts, and deep, deep worry.

Peter chooses this as a time to pipe up. 'I think she looks lovely. You should go for her, Moony.'

While Remus is grateful for Peter's slightly less extreme approach to the subject, he doesn't appreciate the implications of his definite attraction to Helena. He isn't that obvious, is he?

Meanwhile, further down the corridor, Helena sits alone, a pair of cheap headphones covering her ears and plugged into her dirty cassette player. The window is open, and the wind whips around her face. Her old Leonard Cohen tape skips just long enough to be of annoyance, but she's listened to it so many times she can fill in the gaps, remember the exact pitch and tone of his voice as he sings the missing lyrics.

She hums quietly to herself, feeling overly melancholy as the outskirts of London turn into green fields.

For a blissful six weeks, she had forgotten how alone she really was, fooled herself into feeling she was in company.

She misses Remus already, and the only thing separating them is three thin walls.


	4. Breakfast Plates

A/N: _Ey up, loves! It's lovely to be writing about Helena and Remus again. The story's drastically changed now, so if you'd like to have a re-read of the first three chapters and remind yourself of what has and hasn't happened yet I'd definitely recommend you do. This one's a bit shit, but I need it to progress the story, so it'll have to do. Thanks very much to the lovely people who've reviewed and followed this while I was away. I hope you won't be disappointed!_

 _Enjoy the new chapter, and don't skip meals, no matter how much you ate at breakfast!_

* * *

Helena, despite the way she acts in the Muggle world, isn't a confident witch in any sense of the term. Her magical abilities are, to put it lightly, subpar, and she's never been comfortable talking to any of her peers. She often feels she'd be better off in the local Muggle comprehensive down in Manchester, but she can't help but be pulled by the lure of the creature comforts of Hogwarts - it's proper cooked dinners and breakfasts, it's cosy fires, it's always fresh and warm beds.

Besides, she's never heard of anyone dropping out of Hogwarts, and doesn't have any idea how one would begin to go about it. She supposes she's the only one mad enough to think the Muggle world would be better than the Wizarding one, and doesn't fancy bringing it up with any of the professors.

And so, the next few weeks of Helena's life are peaceful as they can be. She gets up early for breakfast, sitting alone at the Gryffindor table with her plate piled high with scrambled egg and bacon. Most mornings, she'll also exchange nods with Sheena Rivers, who goes through the same ritual two tables over. She lays low in morning lessons and skips lunch, having gorged herself at breakfast. She usually spends the half hour in Moaning Myrtle's empty bathroom, ignoring the wailing ghost behind her and fixing her makeup in the mirror. Other times she'll sit in her dorm with a Muggle radio in her hand, jabbing at it desperately with her wand in the hopes of tuning into the BBC and hearing some new music, as of yet to no avail. Afternoon classes pass much the same as morning ones, dinner much the same as breakfast, with roast beef and mashed potato in lieu of bacon and eggs. She goes to bed early and listens to her tapes until it's dark outside, when she finally falls asleep, trying hard not to think of the utter mundanity of her life in Scotland.

Remus' life at Hogwarts couldn't be more different.

He often thinks of summers in Manchester with Helena as his slow-paced wind-down time from the school year, as opposed to Helena's belief that they're the most exciting times of her life.

Anyone, though, would think of life with Helena as relaxing if they had to share their time with the Marauders twenty-four seven. Not that he didn't enjoy it - the boys were three of his five favourite people in the world, and he wouldn't have traded their company for anything - what he _would_ have traded, though, was James' constant whining, Sirius' sexual innuendos and Peter's sarcastic comments - not to mention his constantly getting roped into their ridiculous parties, which he was _far_ more involved in than he would care to admit, Sirius always needing a girl he can shag any time of the day, Peter always becoming over-excited about the tiniest of things and, this year, James' constant mentions of Helena Miller - if he could only get a good night's sleep.

It was to get away from this that, one morning in late October, he wakes up before seven and sneaks away to the Great Hall, hoping to have a peaceful breakfast on his own.

He somehow manages to get out of the boys' dormitories without waking any of his friends, and, even more successfully, escapes the common room without the interruption of any particularly enthusiastic couples with too much class for broom closets.

He had hoped that he would be the only person with the bright idea to eat breakfast this early in the day, but as he arrives at the Hall, he can see two other figures: Sheena Rivers at the Ravenclaw table, fork in one hand, book in the other - and, of course, who else but Helena Miller?

He doesn't have time to decide whether this is a blessing or a curse, or to see the surprise on her face when she sees him in the doorway. It's two days until the full moon, and the smell of cooked breakfasts is overwhelming; before he knows what he's doing, his legs are carrying him over to where Helena's sat, where he sinks down next to her and immediately shovels as much food as possible on his plate.

'Jesus, Remus, those are an awful load of sausages. Are you ill or something?'

 _Sort of, yes._

'No, I'm just starved,' he replies instead, finally looking her in the eye as he starts to eat the eclectic range of foods he'd blindly chosen.

'Oh. Okay.' They eat in silence for a minute, and Helena catches Sheena staring up at them. It wouldn't surprise her if the Ravenclaw girl had Holmes-like deduction skills, and could tell everything she felt towards Remus in a quiet glance - she certainly seems like the type. Or perhaps she fancies Remus herself. Now that Helena thinks about it, most of the studious, bookish girls probably did - she shoots a glance over at him, where he seems to be trying to swallow three poached eggs smothered in tomato sauce at once.

 _No. Nobody in their right bloody minds would fancy that._

'Well then,' Remus begins, quickly swallowing his food. 'How are things with you?'

Helena rolls her eyes. 'Stop trying to act all adult-y, Remus. You're talking to Helena Miller, en't you, not bleeding Queen Elizabeth.'

'I think I'd say something a bit more profound than "how are things?" if I met the queen, Helena,' he says, but he's laughing now. 'Really, Helena. How are you?'

'I'm okay, you little fusspot. It's school. It's boring.'

'It's _Hogwarts_ , Helena. It's not school. It's home.'

Helena pauses for a moment, taking another mouthful of toast.

'No way. Durham's home,' she says quietly, before returning to her breakfast the way she had before he'd arrived.

He frowns at her, but goes back to his own meal, deciding to mind his own business.

He tries not to think about the fact that, had it been in Manchester, he'd probably have had the bravery to pry further, to find out more about the elusive girl he knew so much, yet so little about.

The questions on the tip of his tongue, so very simple, but so loaded at the same time.

 _What was Durham like?_

Before he can ask, though, the doors clatter open, and he can hear Sirius shout.

'I _told_ you he was gone to meet his lady friend! How are you, Helena?'

She takes a final bite of toast and gathers up her bag, saying a quick goodbye to Remus and hurrying out of the hall.

'Don't run! We don't bite - well, shit, she's gone.'

'I can't believe you would betray us like that, Moony!' James slides into the bench beside him, clutching a hand over his heart in mock-agony. He's not expecting the sour expression on Remus' face.

'Merlin, you can't leave me alone for a minute, can you? Can't you just mind your own for an _hour?_ '

The three boys exchange bewildered looks, Sirius and Peter placing themselves on the other side of the table.

'Didn't realise you were having a moment with Helena, Moony -'

'Fuck off, Peter.'

' _Yeah_ , Wormtail -'

'You too, Sirius. You lot ruin _everything_ , you know that?'

And, with that, he makes much the same exit as Helena did minutes ago, flinging his bag over his shoulder and storming out of the Hall.


	5. author's note (or a very abrupt ending)

Hi!

I was 13, sad and lonely when i wrote these 4 chapters. Now I'm 15, still sad, but not lonely and I've well outgrown my fanfic phase. I don't want to take this story down because I guess it encapsulates a time in my life, even if it wasn't a particularly good one, but I felt like i should notify the few people who've read this that it will never be updated ever again. Thank you for reading it though - I was looking through the story stats and a lot of people _are_ still reading it which is really strange, but properly lovely!

I'm still very proud of the quality of my writing in this and I still believe its the best thing I've ever written, purely based on the language - I've never written something so flowery before and it's really nice to re-read and realise that _I_ wrote it. I'm re-purposing a lot of it into something a lot less magic and a lot less Harry Potter, so it's mega helpful as a base for an entirely different story.

Thank you for reading! And I hope nobody's too hooked on it because it's not going to get an ending _(although if you wanted you could ask me and I could give you the basic outline I had planned lmao)_

Thank you! - Kitty :)


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